


Soldiers and Survivors

by Nariel



Category: Train to Busan - Fandom
Genre: Except he really isn't an OC?, Gen, Kind of OC-centric, Post-Movie, low-key angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-05
Updated: 2016-10-05
Packaged: 2018-08-19 17:34:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8219374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nariel/pseuds/Nariel
Summary: The first time he met her, he was staring at her silhouette, through his scope, a finger resting precariously on the trigger of his rifle. The second time he met her was a month later, just as those same fingers found his keys.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Watched Train to Busan several weeks ago and was hit by a train wreck of feels ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ And just a heads up: I don't know Korean so if I messed up on things, such as the name suffixes, please let me know! The protagonist of this little fic was an unnamed, minor character in the original movie, so he's still unnamed here :3 Be warn, ahead be countless 'he's and spoilers for Train to Busan.

His feet shuffle across the concrete. His muscles ache, especially those around his shoulders. His finger twitches at every sound his ears pick up.

One month since he’s been home. One month since he and his unit had been deployed. One month since Korea went to hell and Busan became a shell of its former self.

The city used to shine; people flocked from everywhere to everywhere and not a day passed by where the city wasn’t busy. One month later only minimal lighting was used at night, and the only people who came to Busan were either survivors or the dead and dying. The people still try to go about their daily lives, but it’s hard to do so when nearly everywhere else has been over-run by zombies.

Last he heard, the only other place on the peninsula that was successfully defended was Haenam county. The only other place in South Korean territory was Jeju Island. Distance from Seoul and luck had saved them, just like it had for Busan.

Fortunately, the rest of the world hadn’t been as affected as South Korea had been. Word had spread fast enough for the other countries to contain any inbound transits from Korea and the infected, if any, were quickly disposed of. Even most of the North still remained relatively unscathed, and was doing well enough for Pyongyang to issue missile threats every week. He wasn’t really concerned about that. Raining missiles down on infected zones would only make his job easier.

His hands dig into his pockets, searching for his keys. A sound of muffled cursing enters his ears just as his fingers snag the edge of his keys and he turns to look down the hallway. It’s a young woman, one arm cradling a small bundle and the other was hauling a bunch of grocery bags. One of which was broken and its contents were spilled on the ground.

His feet and hands are moving before he can even think about helping. The woman sends him a grateful smile and he stills. He recognises her.

“Yoon Sung-Gyeong-ssi?”

He doesn’t mean to say it out loud. But he’s surprised to meet her here. The woman he’d almost sniped, thinking her to be yet another one of those zombies.

She sends him another smile, “Yes. Are you a new here? I thought I’d met everyone already.”

It takes him a while to remember that he isn’t wearing his uniform, that he was in casual civilian attire instead of the standard army green. “I was just discharged from the border,” he says, standing up as he passes over the groceries.

Her eyes light up. “Oh, you’re a soldier? Thank you for your work.”

Her smile widens and it’s like a hard punch to his gut.

_I nearly shot you._

He only manages a nod and keeps silent as she unlocks her front door.

“Thank you for your help, and please, call me Sung-Gyeong.”

The bundle in her arms – a baby girl, he realises (and isn’t that just another sucker punch to his gut?) – chooses that time to start fussing and he bids a hasty retreat back to his own apartment.

Hopefully he still has enough alcohol in his fridge, and that they haven’t expired. Because he does not want to think about how he almost shot his own damned _neighbour_ who had been _pregnant._

 .

He manages to avoid Sung-Gyeong for almost a week.

It was surprisingly easy to do so. Sung-Gyeong only left her apartment in the morning and returned by lunch time. And even if he wasn’t looking at the time, all he had to do was listen for the chatter outside his door.

Less than a month had passed and Sung-Gyeong was already on friendly terms with nearly everyone in the complex.

Almost everyone.

He’s pretty sure that he was just an acquaintance at best. At worst…

Well, he hopes she doesn’t find out about their unofficial introduction.

Everyone in Busan knew of Yoon Sung-Gyeong. Officially one of the first survivors to reach Busan and the one who had provided the most information on the zombie outbreak. And if word got out that he’d been the one that had almost shot her, well…

His morbid train of thought is interrupted by the chime of his clock. _6pm._

Mechanically, he grabs the remote control and turns on the television.

(It’s half a stroke of luck, and half sheer perseverance that the telecommunication networks are still able to work. Barely a day after the outbreak occurred, soldiers had been deployed to clear out and defend the nearby telecommunication towers. His unit had sent off truckloads of grim-faced soldiers into the darkness. When it had been time to rotate, barely a third had returned, all sporting looks that told tales of bloody days and sleepless nights.

He remembers the civilians that accompanied his comrades as well. Volunteers that knew how to operate and maintain telecommunication networks. Men and women, some of them young, some old. But even the dim moonlight couldn’t hide the look of steel and terror all of them had in their eyes. He hopes they’re still alive.)

Soft music plays and colours flow onto the screen in a familiar, almost mocking pattern. Why even bother with opening and ending credits now, he wonders. It’s not as if anyone watches the television for anything other than the news.

Dramas lose their charm when reality has flesh eating zombies and reports of suicide every other hour after all.

(An old woman ties a silk noose around her neck when word of her son throwing others to zombies to save himself reaches her. A man throws himself into the river because his elderly grandmother and grandaunt never made it to the station. Another downs a whole bottle of sleeping pills, his hand grasping his phone in a vice grip even in death. And ironically, so many lives are taken by human hands rather than a rotten maw.)

He watches silently as the anchorman opens the show with a smile and a lively tone. Something akin to scorn burns in him. Who was the man trying to fool? Even through the screen he can see past the heavy makeup that just barely hides dark circles and deep stress lines.

He leans backwards and faces the ceiling, eyes shut and hand tracing the skin underneath them.

He scoffs. Perhaps he shouldn’t be so cynical; after all, he had seen the same face when he’d looked in the mirror.

**_“-review what we know about these zombies. If the worst should happen, this knowledge could save your life.”_ **

_A review – that’s it? Nothing new?_

He’s halfway through the motion of switching off the television when a clip plays.

**_“They rely on sight and sound to locate people. If they can’t see you or hear you, they won’t attack. And as long as they aren’t holding onto you and you’re quiet, blocking their line of sight will keep you safe.”_ **

Sung-Gyeong’s face stares back at him, pale and almost trembling.

The night she’d arrived, she’d appeared on screens everywhere. Her story of how she had survived was known by everyone in minutes. That, along with the knowledge how the zombies worked.

That knowledge had saved countless of lives. Had saved his own life too.

_I should probably go apologise_ , he thinks as the interview continues. He watches quietly as Sung-Gyeong replies every question with commendable professionalism until she’s asked of the fates of the other passengers.

He’s a bit too slow in reaching the controller and Sung-Gyeong’s tear-stricken face is seared into his mind as she talks about her husband and so many other unsung heroes.

Staring at the blacken screen, portions of the interview replay in his head over and over again as the controller hangs from limp fingers. Eventually, when darkness has fallen fully, he releases a heavy sigh and makes a note to buy flowers.

.

He gets the flowers the next day. It’s a pretty bouquet, he decides, looking at the tasteful mix of blues, purples and whites. He stares at it, sitting atop his coffee table. Now if only he could work up the courage to actually speak to Sung-Gyeong.

It’s hard though; he’s been sitting there for nearly an hour already and honestly, he still doesn’t know how to start.

Suddenly, his doorbell rings, breaking the silence and a wary look is sent towards his door. He’s not the type of person that people usually visit. And he doesn’t actually have many people that _would_ visit him. Not since his parents…

He stands up and goes to open the door. (No use thinking about them, he reasons to himself, not when he was the one to shoot them down when the horde first arrived at the border.)

It’s hard to say who’s more surprised; he or the little girl standing outside his door.

“Sorry for bothering you,” the girl says after a moment’s pause, and he recognises her as well, “I got the wrong address.”

“Wait a minute, kid,” he calls out as the girl – the other survivor that had arrived with Sung-Gyeong – turns to leave, “You’re looking for Sung-Gyeong-ssi?”

She beams up at him, nodding, and hell, it feels like he’s been ran over by a truck, because shit, she’s wearing the same damn jacket she was a month ago – and he can tell because he can see the damn _blood stains_ on her sleeves and _what guardian dresses their ward like that?_

He swallows the lump that suddenly formed in his throat and tries to smile. Tries. He’s not really sure if he’s doing it right, but at least the kid doesn’t run away screaming. “I was going to visit her too. Could you wait for a bit?”

“Okay, mister.”

He goes and grabs the flowers before he can doubt himself. With the kid there he has a decent enough reason to actually knock on her door.

So with the kid beside him and the bouquet in his hands, he does just that.

He gets cold feet almost instantly, but damn it, he’s a soldier that’s gone up against rabid _zombies_ of all things. He’s not going to chicken out in front of a _kid_. Still, he hides the bouquet behind his back when he hears the door unlocking.

Sung-Gyeong’s curious eyes send a questioning look at him and he jabs a thumb at the kid. “She was looking for you. Got the wrong address and knocked on my door instead.”

A disapproving gaze is immediately sent towards the kid, “Really? I’m sorry to have bothered you.” He’s forced to hide a snigger as the kid looks completely unrepentant.

“And,” he continues, “I, uh, wanted to give you this, so, uh, yeah.” He thrusts the bouquet at her and Sung-Gyeong stares for a moment, puzzled, before accepting it.

“Thank you, but I’ve only known you for a month. What on earth do you have to apologise for?”

He stares at her. “You know what those flowers mean?” There’s a touch of incredulousness in his voice.

He gets a half smile in response, “I used to work as a florist in Seoul, before…”

“A-Ah.” How was he supposed to reply?

He shuffles on his feet, about to apologise to her when a cry echoes from inside the apartment. Sung-Gyeong swivels towards it before she beckons them inside and rushes off to attend to her child.

The kid wastes no time and steps in, kicking off her shoes haphazardly and opening the shoe cabinets to grab a pair of slippers before running into the apartment.

He follows after a brief hesitation, closing the door behind him and carefully putting his and the kid’s shoes to a side before taking out another pair of slippers.

He looks around the apartment, taking in the tasteful but modest design. The kid’s made herself at home, settling on the sofa and fiddling with the hem of her jacket as she watches the television.

He can’t quite hide his grimace before the kid notices it, and he gets a questioning look in response.

He could ignore her, since she was just a kid, but… it felt wrong, somehow, to do so.

“That jacket; you were wearing it when Sung-Gyeong-ssi brought you to Busan. It’s really dirty – you should’ve worn something else.”

The kid immediately stiffens and fists the fabric. It must mean something to her then, he deduces.

“M-my dad bought it for me. And he…” The kid trails off and he officially feels like the world’s greatest idiot.

“Sorry,” he says awkwardly and proceeds to stare at the television as well.

“It’s alright,” the kid mumbles, before she asks, “Mister, were you one of the soldiers that came to get us when we entered Busan? You look familiar.”

He stares at her, baffled, but eventually nods. Damn, the kid has a great memory. Or maybe it was just the trauma. (That he can relate to; one month on and he still remembers everything that happened that day. Every comrade that’d been infected. Every shot he made.)

He isn’t surprised when the kid stands and bows to him, thanking him formally, but he feels – no, he knows – that he doesn’t deserve it. He was going to shoot Sung-Gyeong. He would’ve shot her next.

“Please rise, I don’t deserve your thanks,” he says, voice low and thick.

“Why?” Their heads swivel to face Sung-Gyeong, startled at her sudden reappearance. She sports a curious, slightly wary look, her young daughter held protectively in her arms.

Heart pounding in his chest and throat tight, he walks over to sit on the sofa at Sung-Gyeong’s insistence and starts his explanation.

“I-I was one of the first men deployed to the borders when the outbreak started.  At the time, we didn’t really know what was happening. We were told that riots had broken out in almost all the major cities, so we had to ensure that they didn’t spread to Busan.

“It was... It was early in the morning when we first saw people walking towards the border. Well, it’s more like they stumbled towards us. News of the outbreak hadn’t reached us yet, so we went to help them, thinking that they were injured. A bunch of us got infected because of that.”

He breaks off, breathing heavily as screams echo in his mind. He doesn’t notice when Sung-Gyeong leaves, only when she pushes a warm cup of tea into his hands. He stares at it, before bringing it to his lips and drinks deeply. The hot liquid burns his tongue and throat, but the pain is enough to snap him out of his memories.

“Thank you,” he says, voice hoarse. Hands gripping the cup tightly, he stares at the dark liquid and continues, “We manage to put down the infected. The next hour we cleared the surrounding area and built up barricades around the entrance of the tunnel. By then there were very few zombies that came by. Any that did… we shot them.

“And then, around late-morning, my partner spotted two figures walking towards us. We followed protocol; he informed our superior and we were told to verify whether they were zombies or not. But I- I wasn’t able to.”

He sucked in a breath, “We were ordered to shoot them. And I would have taken the shot – I was going to pull the trigger, when one of them started to sing.

“It took me a while to recognise the lyrics to _Aloha Oe_ , and even longer to process that no zombie could have sung that. Only then did I disengage my rifle.”

A deafening silence rang throughout the apartment. He doesn’t dare look at Sung-Gyeong or the kid.

“I’m sorry. I’ll see myself out-”

“No, wait.” Sung-Gyeong says, and he finally looks up to meet her eyes. Surprise and grief clouds them, and her grip on her child is much tighter, but Sung-Gyeong doesn’t show any anger or fear at all.

He’s surprised, and maybe even a touch relieved.

“You would have shot us, thinking that we were zombies,” Sung-Gyeong says, “And if I were in your place, I could have done the same, if it meant protecting those precious to me.” Her gaze flickers to her daughter and to the kid. There’s a rawness in it that makes him feel uncomfortable, like he’s intruding on something he definitely shouldn’t be anywhere near.

“You would have shot us, but you didn’t.” Sung-Gyeong murmurs, “That’s already more than what others did for us that day.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading~ I’ve had this typed out for a while now so I thought I’d just post it. This might turn into a two-shot, but if it does, the second update (and all other story updates) will only come around early December. My A Levels are right around the corner, so apologies for those who are still waiting for Stars to be updated, but my writing has taken a backseat.


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